


Unexpected Allies

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8590723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Jason's been working as Black Mask's right hand, trying to get enough hard evidence to take the crime lord down, but he knows that it's gotten too complicated recently, even if he won't admit that to anyone else. It's a relief when Black Mask wants to show him something. Jason thinks maybe he's just a step away from having the proof he needs, but then they're interrupted by a captured intruder with a far too familiar face.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikimoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/gifts).



> Welcome! This was written for the Batfamily Christmas Exchange, for Mikimoo! (I hope you enjoy!) This involves use of the Cluemaster's code which, to refresh everyone, is that thing where the first letter of every sentence spells out the hidden message. If you want a translation, it's spelled out in the notes at the bottom.

Roman is giving him the creeps. Not even in a 'I'm a murderous, sociopathic, crime lord with a taste for hardcore BDSM' way, but in a 'let me take you to a nice breakfast with real, good food and a stunning view' kind of a way. (Bruce would lecture him about the misuse of the word 'sociopath' and what it _technically_ means if he said that out loud, but Bruce isn't here to watch him and he can use his own words in his own head, thank you very much.)

Going undercover to play the bad guy is one thing, and it's working fairly alright by his standards, but he seems to have signed up for some kind of weird courtship thing on the side and he's not entirely sure he's down with that part of it. Still, it's not like he can just up and leave now, no matter how uncomfortable this is making pretty much every part of him. Artemis will tear this place apart looking for that weapon of hers, and probably wreck half of Gotham on the way through, to start with.

And then there's Bizarro, who is… his responsibility, in a way? A failed clone, not unlike the ones they've seen before, but he's never seen one up close. He didn't expect just how much of a _kid_ the new alien feels like, or how badly he's clearly hurting. There is absolutely no way that he can leave Bizarro behind, let alone in Black Mask's hands. Roman is too smart for that, unfortunately. It would be easier if he were just another crazy villain with plans that will never work and a story that any half-sane judge would convict them for.

"I wanted to confess something," Roman starts, watching him over the table. He wonders for a moment, bizarrely, how Roman actually expects to eat or drink anything that's in front of him without unzipping that hidden mouth-part. Or is this all a show for him, and Roman's half of breakfast is just there to make him look a little more human? "I enlisted you because I thought you would be easy to manipulate. I needed an heir, yes, but I needed a pawn as well. It was clear even from a distance that you had issues with Batman. You had a lot to prove and I knew I could take advantage of that."

He's not wrong, is the problem. Roman's smart, perceptive, and he's got too big of a chunk of the city wound around his fingers to take him down clean. (He could just kill him, but… Bruce wouldn't approve. He really is _trying_.) He needs real, irrefutable proof to bring this guy down. Enough that even the most crooked jury in Gotham won't have a choice but to declare him guilty. That means getting his hands a little dirtier than anyone else will thank him for.

"If you're trying to get me to blush it's not working," he comments, slipping a hand off the table as he reaches for the glass of… whatever kind of juice with his other.

_Draw first, Roman_ , he thinks and prays, _and we can put all this cat-and-mouse crap to bed_.

Roman leans forwards and puts his elbows on the table, clasping his hands over one another to look over them. His hand hovers over the gun strapped to his thigh, just in case. "I realize now," Roman says, ignoring his sarcastic comment, "I was wrong about you. You could have pit Artemis and Bizarro against each other; possibly destroying both. Instead you risked your life to protect my assets. _Our_ assets."

He's not sure he likes how that sounds, but at least Roman is taking his heart-to-heart with Bizarro as a manipulation instead of the last-ditch effort to help that it actually was.

He watches as Roman stands, before he's told, "You're much more than an heir; you're a kindred spirit." _That_ hits a little like a punch to the gut, but he restrains his physical reaction and forces himself to listen as Roman moves across the room and back towards the door. "I want you to know, I consider you a friend. Come with me; I'd like to show you something."

He stands as ordered, strangling down every bit of his reaction to that piece of news and glancing across the table and its full dishes. So it _is_ a fake breakfast after all; one more small reason to hate Black Mask. There's so much waste on that table right now, and he's not foolish enough to think they'll actually be eating any of it later, after whatever Roman wants to show him.

"Sure," he says out loud, trying to make his voice easy. "Can I bring this bagel with?"

Roman gives a short laugh, standing near the door waiting for him, and flicks one hand out almost dismissively. "Of course; whatever you like."

He takes the bagel before he moves to join Roman, crossing the room as confidently as he can, given the heavy weight settling into his stomach. Roman waits till he's close, then turns to the door and reaches out for it.

Which is when it opens.

Black Mask takes a sharp step backwards to avoid the swing of it, almost directly into him if he hadn’t reflexively stepped back too, and two goons step in with a man held between them. Bloodied, dazed, and way too familiar looking when his head tilts slightly up to look at the rest of the room. Black hair, olive-tinted skin, and brilliant blue eyes that each have a streak of dried blood coming from one corner and down across his face.

He's glad he's behind Black Mask, because for a moment he's sure that his face shows a little too much.

"I imagine there's a very good reason for this interruption," Roman says, voice as cool and calm as though the beaten man kneeling on the ground a few feet ahead of him doesn’t exist.

"Yes, sir," the man on Dick's right says, fingers clenched hard around an upper arm that’s covered in nothing more than a white dress shirt. “He tried to pass through upper security; looked like one of us until security fried whatever tech he was using.”

He eyes the streaks of blood coming down from Dick's eyes, and his eyes narrow a little. Spyral tech. He was _pretty_ sure that Dick had left all that behind, but he guesses that it would be hard to leave behind technology that useful. Honestly, he's more worried about the fact that whatever security Black Mask has up here it found _Spyral-issue_ tech. That's the kind of stuff that's designed to fool sensors of every kind. It shouldn't have failed like that, which means that Roman has nastier stuff than he thought. That's not good.

"Is that right?" Roman doesn't step forward, but his head does tilt a bit to one side. "Well, hold him still. I have better things to do than worry about some spy."

His world tunnels for a second as Roman reaches into his coat and pulls out a gun. He can see Dick's eyes widen, see muscle tense as the two minions hold him tighter, and before his brain catches up he snaps, "Wait!"

He has about a second and a half as Roman turns to him to come up with something, and he spends most of it schooling his expression into something that doesn't betray any of the fear starting to dig at him. Dick is _not_ an acceptable loss, and he's sure as hell not going to have that blood on his hands. Not like this.

"Why?" Roman asks, and he meets that hidden gaze as steadily as he can.

"He made it all the way to the top level of your security before getting caught," he points out, improvising as best he can. "Tech like that; he can't possibly be working alone. Don't you want to know who he's working for? If there's anyone else in your ranks?" It's hard to tell if Roman is remotely convinced, so he adds, "Even without access through the highest level of security, they could get a whole lot of information without any of your guys noticing. He wasn't caught till the tech failed; this isn't an amateur."

He forces himself to go silent so it doesn't sound like he's really babbling and trying to get Roman to spare the supposed stranger's life. If that's suspected, this whole thing will go south a lot faster than he'd like. He can take the goons no problem, and maybe Roman too (he wishes he had a better clue of how good an actual fighter Roman is), but with Dick injured and currently a target? That's not going to go well. Too much of a risk.

Roman's still holding that gun, and then he very deliberately puts it away again. "You're right; it would be a shame not to discover who sent him. I suppose our excursion can wait until later." He strangles down any sense of relief, and then strangles everything else when Roman orders, "Take him down to one of our cells; my guards know the way and you'll serve as escort. You're responsible for this."

Oh _great_.

"Sure," he agrees.

"I'll join you soon enough,” Roman says, adjusting his jacket a bit. "I have something to take care of first; make him comfortable for me."

He doesn't really have anything to say to that, which is good because Roman leaves without another word, sweeping right past Dick and the two minions and vanishing out the door. _Damnit_. He was so close to whatever it was that Roman wanted to show him; he's going to have to work back up to that now. What the hell is Dick doing here?

"Lead the way," he snaps, with a sharp glare to the two masked men.

They do as ordered, and he follows on their heels. It gives him a good look at the heavy-duty cuffs locked around Dick's wrists, and the way he's working at them with a pick. Carefully, quietly, and entirely disguised by the movement of being pushed to walk between them, which makes it slower going. He really wishes he could just let that happen, but if Dick escapes from custody while he's supposed to be guarding him… Well, he's built up a certain, small, amount of respect and trust here. He'd like to not ruin it if they can find another way out.

He takes a glance at both guards, and then reaches forward and takes the pick from Dick's hand in a smooth swipe. Neither of them notice it, but Dick's hands grab backwards like he wants it back. Not surprising in the least, but Dick's the one who's in his space, getting himself caught, so he can just play along for a bit until they figure this out. He's going to need an explanation for why the hell Dick is in the middle of his job, firstly, and then maybe they can get into the whole 'trusting questionable tech' aspect of it that made Dick walk right in the front door instead of actually breaking in.

The guards take them to an elevator, and as soon as it’s been called up they hustle Dick inside and spin him around. He takes the spot behind Dick, again. Mostly to be out of view of the two morons, but also so he can watch what floor one of them sends the escalator to, which is _down_. Way further down than he remembers going before. The cells for Bizarro and Artemis were in a different, attached building. Hardier construction than this skyscraper. He's actually never been further than the lobby in this particular building, which is an oversight he probably should have corrected before, but on the other hand Roman's security is apparently a good deal better than he thought it was.

If he'd tried, maybe he would have gotten caught. Not a fun thing to think about.

Dick shifts his weight a little bit, and he doesn't let himself hesitate as he pulls one of his guns and presses it right up against the base of that black-haired skull. Dick jerks a little, and the minions do too, but he holds it steady.

"Don't," he warns, quietly.

He knows what it looks like when someone is preparing to take down their captors, and an elevator is a good choice of location. Confined quarters, and it's essentially a metal box so a gun going off in here would deafen everyone for at least a few seconds; probably longer. He's not actually going to shoot, of course, but hopefully Dick takes his warning with the double meaning he's intending it to have. As captor to prisoner, but also as one vigilante to another.

Whatever way Dick actually takes it, he eases again. He keeps his gun at the back of Dick's neck, and the two guards shift a little uneasily at that but neither of them actually offers anything verbal so he ignores it. Let them think whatever they want to think.

They reach the designated floor — three levels below the ground, if the button is to be believed — and he draws his gun back enough to flick it and order, “Go.”

He has to wonder if Dick is actually still stunned, or if he’s just doing a very good job of pretending. Without a closer look at his face it’s pretty impossible to tell; the performance is good, if it is a performance. He watches the way Dick’s feet drag as they move, the way he’s hanging slightly in the black-gloved grips, the way his head is dropped down… Not great signs, but then Dick was a hell of an actor even before all the secret-spy training.It's not at all inconceivable that he's really fooling all of them.

He wouldn't even be surprised to have Dick prove that he's good enough to fool him. Honestly, without a real look at Dick's face, and without being able to study his pupils and take a closer look at what injuries he's taken, it's impossible for him to tell. Dick was picking the lock of the handcuffs, but any of them could do that basically in their sleep. It's not a measure of how bad off they are.

The cells look a lot like the ones that Artemis and Bizarro were in, with the same clear front walls and sturdy concrete walls, but it doesn't look quite as secure as the ones next door. These are probably for normal humans, as opposed to Superman clones and Amazons. (Not that Roman's other cells did all that great at restraining either of those particular threats either.)

He lets the two minions pick the cell, and follows them in so he can watch as they strap Dick into a chair in the middle of the room, underneath the brightest source of light. There's no real fight; a couple of small jerks that are easily confined. They finish, leaving Dick bound to the chair by his ankles, and with his cuffs woven into the back of it through some kind of snap-apart chair back that seems specifically designed for it. It's not particularly secure, honestly, but he's not going to mention anything.

They linger, looking maybe just a bit unsure, and he leans a little more firmly against the wall to the side of the door before he orders, "Shoo; I'll keep an eye on him."

They exchange glances (what the hell do they think they're going to get off each other behind those masks?), but he bares his teeth in a small snarl and they apparently agree that not pissing him off is a good idea. They also shut the door behind him though, which he's not totally pleased about, but he'll deal with for now.

From this side the clear front is most definitely no longer clear — difference from the nastier cells there — and he looks at the opaque surface for a minute or so, studying it, before he looks back at Dick.

Dick is watching him from underneath the fall of his bangs, subtly, and yeah, there's his proof that Dick definitely isn't stunned anymore. If he ever was. Those blue eyes are bright and clear, even if the rest of his body language makes him look in pain and maybe concussed. He takes full advantage of the fact that Dick is pretending to be both those things by studying him blatantly and openly, taking in the blood speckled across his white dress shirt and the bruising he can see starting to form.

If he had to guess, he'd say that the Spyral-tech shorted out, which gave these idiots the chance to cause the dark bloom of bruise slowly making itself known across the left side of Dick's jaw. Enough to knock him down, and the leftover pain, stunning, or something else let them get him in cuffs and do the rest of the damage he can see. It's not much, honestly. Dick should be totally fine.

Must be an unpleasant thing to have technology like that — implanted in the _eyes_ — short out so suddenly though; no wonder Dick let these idiots catch him. He was probably half-blind, at least.

"Wasn't the smartest idea; breaking in here." He keeps his voice low, quiet. It's a small room; he doesn't need to speak loudly to be heard. He's sure it's being recorded, so he'll have to be careful with what he says, but that's not a problem. He's been watching his words even before he signed up with Black Mask, and he's only gotten better at it as time has passed.

Dick pretends to shift, to raise his head a little and actually look at him. He watches how those eyelids drop a little bit, mouth parting to simulate dizziness, and almost wants to smirk. Dick always was the precious golden boy, and _damn_ if he didn't earn that title, even as much as he used to hate the 'perfect Dick Grayson' standard he tried and failed to be. Dick's _good_ ; always has been.

"Why's that?" Slightly slurred, head resting against one shoulder. "I seem to still be breathing so far. That's a win in my book. Hell, I'm barely even bruised so far." A crooked little smirk, followed by, "Beatings more your specialty? Maybe I should have just come straight to you and skipped the foreplay."

The slightly awkward phrasing pings against his awareness, and he snorts as he crosses his arms, filtering through the words and… _yep_. Goddamn Cluemaster's code; doesn't Dick know any _other_ way to speak in code? Something a little less juvenile?

"Not unless getting caught was the point," he says, brain fitting together words and sentences he can use, until he just shoves the whole thing out and goes with the simple answer. "Once Black Mask gets here you're going to regret trying to sneak in here."

Dick waits for a second, apparently giving him time if he wants to add something onto the end of that. Not that he's going to do that. Oh _damnit_ , except that he does need a question answered and it's not one he can ask straight out and expect for it to be accurately answered. He has to make it clear that he really wants to know, which means playing along with Dick's stupid game.

"Want to tell me a few things before he gets here? Help me out?" He shifts off the wall, walks forward until he's standing over Dick and lets his fingers hang down near the holsters of his guns. "You could save yourself a lot of pain if you cooperate. He's pretty likely to start taking parts of you off if you don't tell him what he wants to know, and I'm sure you don't want to lose anything important." He reaches out and grabs Dick's chin, pressing his fingers into the bruise on his jaw to draw out a grunt. "Eyes, for example. Real shame to lose eyes like that. Exquisite color."

Dick gives a tight little laugh. "Real attached to my eyes, I admit. Unfortunately I don't think you'll get much out of me if you start there. Might send me into shock, you know?" He squeezes Dick's jaw again, gets a quiet groan before, "Or, if you want to play a little nicer, maybe I could be convinced. Red's not really my color, come to think of it."

Very funny. Also, fair point. There's a lot of shit that's been happening here that hasn't really painted him in a good light. He doubts Bruce told anyone else what he's doing, and he worked _damn_ hard to make sure that no one suspected him of faking this. He broke a good bit of his friendship with Roy over this.

"Oh?" he settles on, letting go of Dick's jaw and straightening up again. That's pretty clear, even without the extra message hidden inside it.

"Call me crazy," Dick starts, rolling his jaw with a wince, "but I always prefer a kiss when I'm getting screwed. Little bit of kindness goes a long way." That fake-stunned gaze meets his, and Dick gives another crooked smirk. "Offer me something and maybe I'll talk so your boss won't have to get his hands dirty. No torture, no effort, just a little bit of give and take. Everybody's got a price, right?"

Oh _hell_. If word about Bizarro has gotten out somehow then it's probably not long before Bruce is going to be knocking down the door too. Honestly, he doesn't know how Dick managed to get here first. Unless he's here on Bruce's order, but that doesn't seem likely. Bruce probably wouldn't let Dick just walk in the front door without any disguise except the Spyral tech, and he almost definitely wouldn't send him in alone and without backup.

Still…

“Bargaining usually isn’t my style,” he says, but crosses his arms to make it look like he’s considering it. “Are you really going to act like you’re in any position to get out of here with more than your life? That either makes you stupid or crazy, in my books.”

"No, that was pretty much the high point of my requests." A small shift, before Dick stills with another wince. He's pretty sure it's a faked one. "Other options include 'not dead' and 'limbs still attached."

Alright, so it's up to him and Dick to make it out of here. Dick might be helpful, if he gives the pick back, but really he should probably just count on himself. Although giving the pick back is still a good idea. Just in general. As long as Dick doesn’t break out while he’s actually watching, it’s not his fault if an escape happens.

He moves forward, slowly circling Dick once before finally letting himself slow at his back. He palms the pick that he'd stored just inside his sleeve and then leans down, bracing a hard hand against one of Dick's shoulders and then lowers the other to press the pick into Dick's hand as he leans over him. It's taken, and he grabs the other hand so he can twist at Dick's fingers, enough to prompt gritted teeth and a small groan he's absolutely sure is fake. He's not twisting them that badly.

"Let's start with something easy then, hm? Impress me and maybe we can just skip all the unpleasantness, and you can walk out still out breathing. 'Everyone's' price tends to be a lot higher than Black Mask is willing to pay idiots who get caught by his security." He lets go of the hand, braces both against Dick's shoulders and digs his fingers in. No armor, idiot.

"Deal," Dick says, with a slightly more pained groan. He wonders, briefly, if there are already bruises where he's pressing. "Unless this is your version of playing nice, maybe we can get back to just talking? High ground and all that?"

"You're in the wrong place for high ground," he points out, but he lets go and circles back around to stand in front of Dick again. He hasn't really got anything more to communicate, which means that this has come around to putting on a good show until Roman actually gets back. He is really _done_ with the stupid code game. "Alright, what's your name then, spy?"

Dick rolls one shoulder with another exaggerated wince, and then offers, "Roy; how about you?"

Oh, _real_ nice.

"You can call me Red Hood," he answers. "What's the tech you used to get into our base, _Roy?_ "

"Advanced type of hypnosis, from what I understand. Employer gave it to me; said it would get me up there without a problem." A strained little laugh, followed by, "Obviously that wasn't exactly—”

The door opens, and Dick cuts off. He turns his head to look, and it's not surprising but it's still not good that it's Roman standing in the doorway, looking at them both. He stays still underneath the gaze, watching Dick go still too, his expression a little more nakedly uncertain. Just acting; he's sure of it.

"A word," Roman orders, with a beckoning flick of his fingers, before he slips back out the door.

He glances back at Dick for a moment, and then follows. Roman's waiting in the hallway, the minions gone, and he closes the door to hear the click of the lock before he asks, "What's up?"

Roman glances down the hallway in either direction, and then walks towards one of the other, unoccupied cells. For just a second, as Roman slips in, he debates just closing and locking it behind him. But he doubts that Roman would actually let himself get stuck in one of his own cells, and he hasn't totally ruined his position here yet. This is still important, and if Dick can get out on his own than he doesn't want to mess this up; not before he gets Bizarro out of here and helps Artemis find her fancy bow.

He walks in and then Black Mask turns to him, one hand on the back of the chair bolted to the center of the room. "Has he told you anything important yet?" comes the inquiry.

"Not really," he answers, simply enough. "His name's Roy, or so he says, and apparently the tech he used is some sort of advanced hypnosis? Looks like he was hired by someone who supplied him with it. He's willing to cooperate, if we let him walk out of here alive. Might be worth it to know who's trying to infiltrate you."

Roman chuckles, and something about the tone of it sets him a little on edge. He tries not to show it. "Yes, I imagine he _would_ be willing to cooperate, wouldn't he?"

He shifts a bit, his eyes narrowing. "Is there something you're not telling me?" he asks, bluntly. "If you already know who hired him then—”

"I've got a couple suspicions."

All his instincts go off at once, and he takes in a sharp breath and spins towards the sudden feeling of a presence at his back, the sudden _enormous, angry, Superman clone_ who's grabbing him with one massive hand and flinging him past Roman and into the wall. It _cracks,_ and he collapses to the floor, struggling to breathe, struggling to focus past the ringing of his skull. Dress shoes step past him, and then that massive hand is grabbing him by the back of his head and dragging him to his feet, and then to hang in the air.

He grabs for a gun, aims it at _Roman_ instead of the invulnerable monster holding him, and then the other massive hand grabs it from him. His gun is squeezed, dropped to the floor as a crumpled, useless thing, and he swallows past the dizziness making the room spin a little and tries not to focus on the fact that he doesn't have kryptonite and that without that, he's pretty helpless against Bizarro. Not to mention that something is _wrong_ , because since when would Bizarro just attack him like this? They were making progress before.

A flick of one hand and Bizarro carries him over to the chair and drops him into it. He barely has time to not fall over before his arms are being wrenched back — one cracks in a way he's pretty sure is not good, even though it doesn't feel broken — and he's being held there, strained back around the chair, his vision still swimming.

The click of shoes, and he forces his head up to bare his teeth at Roman. Sharp, purple sparks are jumping between the zippered teeth of his mask, and alright, that's definitely not natural. Something is very wrong here, and it's not just that Roman is randomly turning on him.

"I'm going to go talk to your friend, Jason." He jerks at the mention of his actual name, and Roman gives a small laugh. "You're not as subtle as you think. I think he was working for you, and if I'm right, and he tells my torturers as much, you're going to be in for a much worse death than he is."

He winces, drags in a deep breath and then grits out, "He's not with me. I wouldn't do that, Roman."

"Let's not pretend," Roman says, reaching forward and unbuckling one of the straps of his left holster. "See your clone friend? I'm controlling him using the same technology that I did the mayor, which ended when you attacked him. What a mystery. We've been working at cross-purposes this whole time, and you know it. Thanks for your assistance in getting me what I'll need to control this city though; it really would have been much harder if you hadn't talked him down."

His remaining holstered gun comes off, and then Roman circles to his back and locks his wrists together with what feels like the same style of cuffs that Dick is currently in. Bizarro lets go of him a moment later, and he tracks the two of them as they walk towards the door.

Roman turns back once Bizarro has passed through, holding the holster up by one strap. "Now, I know this isn't your only weapon by far, and I know this cell probably won't hold you for long. That's fine. If you're interested in ruling the city with me, just stay where you are. Stay here until we're finished with your friend, and he's told us everything we want to know. Then we can talk terms, and maybe punishment for trying to fool me. Leave, and I'll hunt you down. You put a hell of a weapon in my hands, after all."

He grits his teeth, but stays still until Roman closes the door and he's alone again. Well, as alone as he can be with the whole front wall ahead of him being one-way glass. His shoulder aches when he shifts to test the cuffs, along with basically the whole line of his spine, and he grimaces and tilts his head down towards his chest to try and get the dizziness to go away. Concussion, definitely. That's going to be fun.

Well, this whole thing just exploded in his _face_. That went _stunningly_ well, all puns hated but intended.

Dick's about to get tortured to see if _he's_ the one that hired him, and he's temporarily trapped in the cell, and his cover is blown with Black Mask. Apparently he never had a cover, actually, which is... not good. He doesn't at all like the idea that Roman was just using him to take down Artemis, and get a hold of Bizarro. Someone as ruthless as Roman, with a Superman clone wound around their fingers? That could be… really bad. He doesn't even know exactly what Roman is planning for the city, but _god_ , Bruce is going to kill him.

He promised that he had this under control; he told Bruce to _trust_ him except that now he's royally fucked up and that whole attempt is just gone. He was really _trying_ to prove that he can do this on his own. That sometimes it's necessary to be the bad guy, and he can be that undercover force when they need it. He can blur the line without really crossing it.

Maybe… Maybe he can still fix this.

If he can just get out of this cell, and either cut whatever Roman's control of Bizarro is or — he doesn't want to, but if it's necessary… — take down Bizarro himself, then he can salvage this thing. He'd say that controlling a Superman clone and torturing an 'innocent,' not to mention everything else he's seen Black Mask do, will be enough. It's not as good as he wanted it to be, not as tightly wrapped and perfectly presented, but it'll have to do.

Better a slightly substandard case than letting Black Mask take over the city with Bizarro on a leash.

Alright, so first things first, the cuffs.

Those are simple enough; he's got a pick built into each of his gloves, so he just closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of it as he works at them. He could pick a lock in his sleep, and these might be more high-tech ones, but they're still just cuffs. He's picked just about every different style of handcuffs in the world at one point or another. It's just a matter of feeling them out, and getting it just right so that they…

The handcuffs click open, and he pulls his not-injured arm forward before rolling the other one forward as well with a small curse. His shoulder is sincerely unhappy, and he wonders about that cracking sound. It still doesn't feel like anything is really broken, but maybe he's just gotten used to the feeling after so long. Well, things to worry about later. He can still move it and it's not hurting enough to be crippling, so diagnosing it can wait until later. For now, he'll just be careful with it and try not to wreck it any further.

He works the other cuff off a lot more easily, now that he can see what he's doing, and then carefully tests his feet underneath him before he pushes himself up. His head swims, and he grits his teeth against another curse, but he stays standing. That's going under 'things to deal with later' too; once he's out of this, and he's dealt with Black Mask and Bizarro, and he can actually sit down and rest for a bit. Working through injuries isn't anything new, after all. It's practically a genetically Bat thing.

So, his guns are gone, but he's still got all the other tech in his suit. Getting out of the cell itself shouldn't be much of a problem; slightly more of a problem if he wants to do it without a large explosion that will call a lot of attention, but he can still do it. Escape techniques were basically the bread and butter of Robin training; god knows they all needed it.

Priority one is getting Dick out of here. Then he can work on fixing the mess he maybe half-caused. That's going to be a hell of a lot harder than breaking Dick out — god he _hates_ fighting superhumans, especially ones strong as this — but he'll manage. He always manages somehow. The absolute first step is getting out of this cell, and praying that no one is outside and watching him. He can't exactly tell with that one-way window in the front, and he hasn't got his helmet on him so he doesn't have the tech to be looking through it. That's a pain.

He moves over to the door to study it.

It takes him longer than he'd like, and longer than he'd admit to basically anybody, but he figures out how to get the door open with only a _few_ explosives. Roman's tech is frustratingly good, but that just means that he underestimated him. Mistakes he won't be making again. Ever.

He sets the charges, backs away to the other side of the room—

And the door opens.

He blinks, thumb on the button for the remote detonation, and Dick smirks at him. "So, that didn't exactly go according to plan, did it?"

He straightens up and crosses the room to get a better look at Dick, strangling back a wince at the sluggishly bleeding, shallow cuts up his arms and calves. A few more bruises too — and that's just what he can see — but the blood worries him most. Dick's white shirt is a lot less white and a lot more red now, and it doesn't _look_ like enough to make him pass out or anything but maybe he's more than a little bit protective right now.

"What happened?" he demands, almost reaching out for Dick but stopping himself. He busies himself by retrieving his explosives instead.

"Well," Dick starts, leaning against the doorway and watching him, "they seemed real convinced that I was working for _you_ , interestingly enough. Black Mask didn't stick around long, but I got the impression that you were maybe not as well trusted as you thought?"

"Yeah, that was news to me," he grunts. "What'd you tell them?"

Dick squints a little bit, and then says, "That I wasn't. I mean, obviously. First of all, I'm actually not, and secondly, I wasn't going to give them a reason to kill you. I wouldn't do that to you."

He glares just a little bit, unable to quite look past the streaks of now-dried blood coming down from Dick's eyes. "You should have just told them what they wanted to hear," he insists. "I can handle myself."

"Great," Dick says, and now he looks distinctly unimpressed. "So then they would have killed me and then come back around and killed you too. And exactly what would that have achieved?” He can’t quite get an answer together before Dick continues, “Come on, let's get out of here. You can tell me all about how thankful you are that I didn't turn them onto torturing you instead while we get out of the building."

"But—”

"And _then_ you can tell me what exactly you're doing here with Black Mask, and tell me which of the rumors I've heard are true and which aren't, because that could use some clarification." Dick grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket and pulls, and he doesn't really see any choice but to let Dick manhandle his arm into wrapping around that somewhat bloody waist and helping support his weight. "I assume you know how to get out of here."

"Fine," he agrees, and sighs but adjusts his grip to better support Dick as he helps him down the corridor. Dick's steps are a little bit unsteady, but he's breathing alright and doesn't look like he's getting ready to pass out, so that's something. "So, did you happen to bring any kryptonite?" he asks, with a glance downwards.

Dick looks up at him, and then gives a harsh sigh and a crooked smirk. "Yeah, but if what I've heard is right then you can wait until later to have it. We're not going up against a Superman clone like this unless there's no other choice."

"Bizarro," he corrects, idly, and then realizes that he's maybe showed off a little too much about his feelings concerning that when Dick gives him a sharp look. He shoves out a breath and punches the button for the elevator. "His name's Bizarro. He's a recent clone, just woke up… a day ago? Maybe less? He's more like a kid than a threat, but Black Mask's got him on a techno-virus that's made him susceptible to direct control." He pauses, and then admits, "If you're not busy, I could maybe use some help getting him back out of Roman's hands before this starts to go really bad."

Dick is the one to prompt him forward into the elevator, and nudge the button for the lobby with an elbow. "Well, I broke into Black Mask's headquarters on a couple wild rumors, so no, I'm not busy. Is there really an Amazon here too?"

"Mmhmm. Artemis. She's looking for some kind of mythical weapon that belonged to her at some point? Supposedly Black Mask has it." He snorts and then offers, "She was in a cell last I saw her, but I doubt she's still in it at this point. She's… actually pretty cool, once you get past the aggression."

He gets a snicker for that, and Dick's voice is absolutely teasing when he says, "Let me guess, she's the cause of those bruises marring your handsome face?"

"She broke my helmet," he admits, with a bit of chagrin. "With my head inside it. In retrospect I shouldn't have called her 'princess.' Apparently that's a Kori-specific thing." Dick snorts out a laugh, and he spits, "Like _you've_ got any room to talk. Cluemaster's code? _Really?_ "

The elevator dings the alert for the floor just below the lobby.

"It worked, didn't it?" Dick's smirking now, and he rolls his eyes.

"You _dork_. Stupid game; stupid code."

"Well, when you come up with something better you just let me know." The elevator slows, and Dick breathes out and steps away from him. Still a little unsteady, but half behind the wall of the elevator now and less likely to be an instant target. "How many do you think will be out there?"

He grunts, shifting behind the other side of the elevator's front wall. "A dozen? Maybe more? Or just Bizarro."

The door opens, and he braces for guns, for a _fight_ —

"It is about time," Artemis declares, _loudly_ , across a floor filled with either unconscious or dead Black Mask minions. He's really not sure he wants to know which.

He wordlessly pulls Dick out of the elevator and across the floor, to where Artemis is leaning partially on her axe and looking down at both of them, unimpressed. "Artemis," he greets. "This is… a friend."

She looks down at Dick, who smiles, and she scoffs and looks back at him. "You have created quite a mess," she tells him, pointedly. Before he can even agree with her, she adds, "You will help clean it up. Even I can recognize that this Black Mask cannot be allowed to control the clone; you will help fix what you have allowed."

"I'm getting my friend treated first. Then we can _all_ take down Black Mask. Alright?" He meets her gaze, narrowing his eyes and trying to impress that he's serious though more than just his tone.

Her lip curls, and for a second he thinks he's about to get booted across the room, and then she tosses her head and lifts the axe as she spins around and strides towards the door. "Fine," she calls over her shoulder. "Keep up, little human."

He exhales, a little relieved, and then starts after her, helping Dick through the minefield of bodies.

"You made a _friend_ ," Dick comments. "I'm starting to think you share my thing for competent, dangerous redheads, by the way."

“Well, you’re just going to have to learn to share.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone interested, the Cluemaster's code conversation goes as such:  
> Dick: _With BM?_  
>  Jason: _No. Why here?_  
>  Dick: _Rumor. Clone._  
>  Jason: _Bat?_  
>  Dick: _No.  
>  *pause*_  
> Jason: _Lie._  
>  Dick: _Duh._


End file.
